As we settled down on my bed, I found I had no idea what to say to Jasper. I was so glad to see her, but I wasn’t sure where we stood exactly. Who was apologizing to who? I didn’t really care very much, but I didn’t want to screw this up.

“I played the sad game,” I said, after a moment. “And it worked, some.”

“I did too,” said Jasper.

“And I’m sorry. For what I said, about fate. But also I’m sorry if there’s anything else I said that wasn’t right. Maybe I wasn’t totally ready for everything you told me. I didn’t realize how serious it would be.”

Jasper nodded. “I get it. And I’m sorry too, for what I said, about Sam.”

“It’s okay,” I said, and it was, now. “You know what else?”

“What?”

“I’m glad we fought. I thought about it a lot last night, and I really am.”

“Really?”

I nodded. “I’ve spent the last year not fighting or crying with anyone. I think maybe it’s good to be sad, and angry. It’s not fun. But it’s better than not being sad and angry. It’s better than being nothing. Does that sound crazy?”

Jasper shook her head. “Not even a little bit. Let’s make a deal. Let’s promise to get angry and sad when we need to, but always apologize and make up after. How’s that?”

“As long as we apologize quickly,” I added. “Yesterday was no fun.”

“Agreed!” said Jasper. “I felt terrible all yesterday. I waited for you, and I wanted to come here, but I didn’t want to get you in trouble. Then, today, I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I came over. I’m glad I did too—your mom is the best. You didn’t ever mention that she used to live in New York City, or that she has her nose pierced. You made her sound . . .”

“What?”

“Boring,” said Jasper. “You said she was a ghost.”

“Well, yeah, I guess,” I said. “I mean, a boring person can have a nose ring. And New York is probably full of ghosts. But I don’t know. She’s just been . . . floating this year.” I thought of all the pillow forts Mom had helped Sam build over the years, and all the times she’d let us eat dinner in those forts. Then there was the time she took me for a pedicure where tiny fish nibbled at my toes. Most moms didn’t do those things.

“I don’t know,” I said, hugging my pillow as I tried to sort out what to say. “I . . . I . . . don’t know how to explain.”

“Explain what?”